


Falling Without A Safety Net

by EchoResonance



Series: Acrobatics [1]
Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Angst, Depression, Dissociation, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-05-04 11:56:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5333231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EchoResonance/pseuds/EchoResonance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been two years since Killua has spoken to Gon or read his text messages. It's been two years since he left Gon to protect his little sister, and Killua is still not really okay. It's been two years, and Killua can't imagine that Gon has done anything but thrive in his absence.<br/>But he's forgetting that if he isn't okay, rare is the day that Gon is anything else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shadowcall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowcall/gifts).



News travels. It always does. First, the event happens, and people witness. Then knowledge that it happened spreads by word of mouth, witnesses telling friends, and friends telling other friends. A person mentions it to their waitress, and another has a conversation with their cashier. A teacher presents it to his class of twenty students. Then it spreads further, as people with cell phones begin texting relatives, and people with computers make a post on their blogs and start a topic in a chat forum. It spreads, and it spreads, and it spreads.

But that’s only when it’s a topic that affects a great many. A school shooting, a fight in a mall, and an animal someone witnessed being abused can have a large impact on a grand scale. But people who don’t even exist can’t make headlines. People who are never seen don’t find themselves in the news. Hunters are only noted for great accomplishments or great failures.

So how then does one hear news of a Hunter that is not yet known for either?

Killua fiddles with the phone in his hand, something he does a lot lately. In the past two years it’s become a near permanent fixture in his palm, fingers brushing over buttons he can’t bring himself to press. Sometimes he’ll get a text, and his heart leaps stupidly, cruelly, because he knows he isn’t going to look at it. If he reads the messages flooding his inbox, his resolve will crumble, and he’ll go back, despite the risk and despite the hurt. He should honestly just throw the phone away, as it does him no good to hold and stare at without using any of its functions, but he can’t. It’s foolish and masochistic of him, he knows, but the tightening of his chest every time his phone rings is a feeling he can’t give up, because when it rings, it tells him that he isn’t forgotten. That _he’s_ still thinking about him, and thinking often.

“Still not answering?” a soft voice says from the doorway.

Looking up so sharply that his neck burns, Killua meets his sister’s gaze. She’s grown in the time they’ve been away from Zoldyck manor. She’s taller now, her hair several inches longer, and she’s wearing a new blouse and a soft, dark green skirt of her own choosing, because she’s outgrown her old clothes.

“’S just some wrong number,” he lies, hitting the ignore button and watching the screen go dark again. “Not a big deal.”

She doesn’t believe him.                                                                     

“You should at least answer Gon’s calls,” she says, brow furrowing. “If you’re gonna keep being stubborn and not go find him, you have to talk to him.”

Killua sighs and slips the phone back into his pocket, throwing his feet over the side of his bed and standing up.

“He’s just gonna talk about a bunch of stupid stuff his dad said on this day, or what him and Ging did on that day,” Killua says airily, but he feels a pang in his chest at the thought.

Gon’s probably traveling all over with his dad. Ging had always been the most important person to Gon, his one unwavering goal, and he has it now. Really, Killua has no place in Gon’s life now, not now that he’s achieved his ambition and not only met his father but gotten the chance to go on a bunch of stupid, probably deadly adventures. Adventures like the ones they used to have, what felt like centuries ago.

Alluka sighs and crosses the room, and Killua opens his arms to her. Her arms wrap around his waist, and he folds himself around her, holding her close and burying his hands in her thick mahogany hair, comforting himself in her warmth. She leans her cheek against his chest and hugs him tighter.

“Brother,” she says quietly. “I know you wanna keep me safe…And I know you’re still upset with Gon…but is this really the way to deal with any of that?”

He stiffens slightly, feeling a knot tie itself in his throat.

“You’re just hurting yourself more by trying to keep him away,” she says. “I got my time with you to myself, and I’m happy with that, but I don’t want to be your excuse for avoiding him anymore.”

“Alluka!” Killua exclaims, startled. He tries to pull back to look her in the eye, but she holds him firmly where he is. “You’re not—you’re not an excuse!”

“I am,” she responds. “If you didn’t have me to take care of, you would have stayed with Gon. You would have made a much bigger effort to make him understand whatever it was he did, made him apologize, and then you would be with him now. I figured that, after we spent some more time together, you’d be okay to go back, but you keep making up reasons not to.”

“I’m not making up reasons,” Killua protests. “You’re my little sister! I have to keep you safe. Illumi’s after y—”

“Bisky is stronger than you, Brother,” Alluka says wryly. “And she’s working really hard to train me. If you were just worried about keeping me safe, Bisky can definitely do that. But as long as you say that you’re the only one that can do it, then you have a reason not to leave me with her.”

Killua swallows thickly, still carding his fingers through her thick waves of hair. He knows she’s right. Bisky can still beat the hell out of him seven ways to Sunday without breaking a sweat, even without reverting to her other form. She still probably isn’t strong enough to beat Illumi in a fight, but if a fight is what it comes to, neither can Killua.

“Alluka, I can’t leave you,” he says quietly. “I left you in that room for years, all alone. I can’t make up for that, really, but I am not going to leave you alone anymore.”

“Brother, I’ve seen more in the past two years than I have in the rest of my life,” Alluka says. “And even when I was in that room, it wasn’t so bad. I never felt alone. I always have Nanika. I always have you.”

There seems to be a hand squeezing his heart, but it isn’t painful exactly, even though his eyes are pricking with tears. His little sister is entirely too mature for her age. His little sister has entirely too much faith in him, even though he’s done little to deserve it until he got her out of that stupid damn jail cell of a room.

“It’s almost time for your training,” he says gruffly, pulling back and hoping she doesn’t see the moisture in his eyes. “You don’t want to be late. Bisky would have your head.”

“Bisky’s nice,” Alluka disagrees, shaking her head.

A tick starts beneath Killua’s left eye.

“Okay, I’ll rephrase,” he says. “She’ll have _my_ head if you’re late.”

Alluka laughs and bounds out of the room again, leaving Killua standing quite alone, staring at the empty doorway and trying to ignore the ache in his chest. It’s a familiar ache, one he felt when he went home after the first Hunter Exam, and when Gon made a contract with _On_ , and at the NGL when Gon was so lost that not even Killua could reach him. It’s an ache that hasn’t left him since he left Gon at the base of the World Tree.

He looks down at his pocket, half hoping for and half dreading the next time it will go off.

* * *

News travels. Through hospitals and therapists and friends and loved ones and even strange, awkward acquaintances, it travels. It even travels to members of the mafia—or rather, a single member with a connection to aforementioned hospitals. It travels across oceans to small islands, and through technology into games that aren’t really games at all. It passes from one person to the next, each hoping that the other might know something they don’t, that the other might be able to do something they can’t, that the other might have something to say that they haven’t yet considered.

And sometimes, the most important person only hears by sheer, unfortunate accident, for the universe often has a cruel sense of irony.

When Killua arrives at Bisky’s home to pick up Alluka from training, days after their conversation in his room that had amounted to nothing, he lets himself in like he always does. They’re in the backyard, and he could just go around, but it’s easier and more direct to go straight through the ridiculous house to the back door, so that’s what he does, just like every other day.

However, unlike every other day, when he slips onto the back porch, Alluka is sitting on a chair while Bisky talks on the phone. Killua frowns, and is about to demand to know why Alluka’s training is being interrupted by a phone call when his sister catches his eye, and her face drains of color. He comes to a standstill just outside the door, gaze fixed on Alluka’s horrified expression.

“—he done now?” Bisky demands furiously. “I swear I’ll kill him myself if…No, you’re probably right…I don’t know what you think I’ll be able to do. He barely listens to me on a perfect day. Something like this…No, I haven’t heard anything from him, but that shouldn’t be surprising, if what you’re saying is true.”

Killua’s mouth is dry, and his gaze flickers to Bisky, who hasn’t noticed him yet. That’s what truly scares him; for Bisky not to notice his arrival, when he isn’t even using Zetsu, means that whoever she’s talking to, and whatever the conversation is about, is causing her a massive amount of distress.

“You know how he gets,” Bisky sighs. “He probably just had a bad streak in Heavens Arena or something. He tends to pout…He _what_?!”

Killua flinches, and there’s a nasty obstruction in his throat.

“How…how bad? …Are they…And you’re just _now_ telling me about this?! …No, I probably couldn’t have come, but still…No, no excuses, you should have told me.”

Killua wants to say something. He wants to do something. Take the phone? Ask who it is?

“I never would have expected…” Bisky says, her voice constricted. “To—to himself? You’re sure that’s what…How awful…”

His fingers are trembling, and his palms feel clammy. What’s going on? Who’s on the phone, and how are they distracting Bisky so completely that he might be able to actually sneak a hit on her at the moment? And why, _why_ is Alluka looking at him, completely distraught?

“You know I can’t do anything,” Bisky says weakly. “You knew that when you called me.”

Killua’s knees are threatening to give out underneath him from the tension, and his mind is still screaming _WHO_ , even though deep down, it already knows. There’s only one person that could make Alluka look like that, only one person who can cause Bisky so much stress from a simple phone call. There’s only one person that can shake him to his foundation even now, even though he’s nowhere nearby. And it isn’t Illumi.

“You know there’s only one person,” Bisky sighs. “He’s the only one that even stands a chance, and still it might not be a very good one. But he’s MIA, now, isn’t he?”

Bisky’s shoulders slump wearily, then stiffen in the next instant. Killua freezes, eyes locked on her slim figure as it turns slowly around. Her large, deceptively childlike eyes lock on him, and just like his sister’s, her face drains of what little color is still there.

“I—I have to go,” she says to the phone. “I’ll call back soon. Try to keep him safe.”

Her hand falls away from her ear, phone still clutched tightly in it. She makes no move to approach Killua.

“Who was that?” he asks.

She hesitates, glancing over at Alluka. He takes a step forward, and her attention snaps back to him at once.

“Who. Was. That?” he says, biting out each word precisely.

“It was Leorio,” she says calmly.

“Why did he call you?”

Bisky’s eyes narrow, and Killua knows that she recognizes the multitude of things he means in that one question. Why did Leorio call her? Why _didn’t_ he call Killua? What’s happening that nobody feels like letting him in on?

“It’s nothing to concern yourself with,” she says, a mask of composure sliding over her face. “Just a patient he’s had recently that—”

“Liar,” Killua accuses, taking another step forward.

Bisky’s eyes flash dangerously, and she tosses her phone aside.

“Watch your tongue, brat,” she says quietly. “You should respect your elders.”

“I’ll respect people who don’t lie to my face,” he retorts. “What did Leorio tell you?”

“I don’t have to tell you about my private conversations,” she says coolly. “What my acquaintances and I talk about has nothing to do with you.”

“Then why did you look like I was bringing the Phantom Troupe in tow when you saw me?” Killua demands. “If it has nothing to do with me, why is my sister white as a sheet? Who are you to decide if it has to do with me?”

Bisky’s face hardens, and Killua’s eyes are sharp enough to see her movements, but out of Godspeed his body isn’t quick enough to react to them. One moment she’s standing several yards away, and the next, she’s planting her fist so deeply into his gut it’s a wonder she doesn’t punch a hole straight through him. As it is, she sends him flying backwards through the air until his back slams against a wall, knocking the wind out of his lungs and causing his head to crack back against the brick. The bitter tang of iron fills his mouth. And she’s standing right in front of him, that deadly look still lingering on her face.

“You decided that, not me,” she says darkly. “And I hate you every day because of it, but I’ve respected your poor choices all the same. Don’t make me the bad guy, brat.”

Killua clicks his teeth and spits a mouthful of blood out onto the patio, drawing the back of his hand across his mouth.

“You kinda seem like the bad guy right now,” he says.

“Not from my perspective,” she replies coldly.

“Enlighten me, then,” he suggests. “Whatever decision I made to land me half-buried in your wall must really piss you off, huh?”

“Brother…” Alluka says hesitantly.

“No, Alluka,” Bisky barks, holding up a hand. “Your brother has only ever learned his lessons the hard way. This time will be no different.”

Killua bristles, and lunges at the small, blonde woman, claws out and reaching for those stupid pigtails but closing only on air. A sharp blow to the back of his neck slams him face-first into concrete, and had he not been shielding himself in aura, it would have knocked him out cold. As it is, it sends pain shooting through his body like arcs of electricity.

“You chose not to get involved,” Bisky says, and he receives a vicious blow to his side that lands him on the grass in her yard.

He coughs up more blood, spitting it onto the ground and forcing himself to his feet before Bisky can get in another cheap shot like that.

“Involved in what?!” Killua demands. He doesn’t have the energy or the will for Godspeed right now, a very detrimental circumstance against Bisky.

“Anything!” she answers, and she’s coming at him again.

He raises his arms in front of him in time to block her next punch, but it still knocks him back several yards and leaves his forearms throbbing.

“When did I do that?!”

“You’ve been doing that for years, you stupid little brat!”

Killua blinks, and his arms fall slightly in his surprise. His heart stutters.

“What?”

If he’s expecting Bisky to cut him slack because he’s confused, he’s sorely mistaken. A kick straight to his solar plexus has him reeling backwards again.

“You left,” she growls, advancing on him. “You decided to remove yourself.”

He flinches, and takes a step back automatically.

“You make that decision again every time you ignore a call. Every time you ignore a text.”

Killua’s stumbling backwards, away from Bisky now, but his feet aren’t quite cooperating, and he’s tripping clumsily the way he never does.

“Every time you bring your little sister over here and every time you take her away again.”

Another blow, this time to his back, now sends him back into the center of the yard, where he gets a mouthful of dirt and grass.

“You chose to leave him,” Bisky says bluntly. “You left him alone, and you refused to get involved from that point on.”

Killua doesn’t move from his sprawl on the ground, too busy trying to remember how to breathe through the pain. Not the pain in his back, or his nose—which is definitely broken—or his stomach. No, he can’t recall how to breathe past that agonizing ache in his heart, sharpened in this instance to a horrible, stabbing pain that he can’t remember having felt in a long time.

_Don’t tell me that_ , he wants to yell at her. _Don’t remind me._

“Don’t tell me I’m deciding these things for you,” Bisky says, and Killua knows she’s kneeling at his side, but he doesn’t look around, and he doesn’t bother trying to lash out at her or block her next attack.

A hand touches his shoulder, but it’s…gentle. Another hand slides under him, pressing against his chest and guiding him up. He follows, confused, and looks around at Bisky to realize with a start that there are tears in her eyes. Then she’s crushing him to her in an embrace that’s far too strong for her appearance, and her hand slides over his hair.

“Killua,” she says quietly. “You know why I can’t tell you what I spoke with Leorio about, don’t you?”

Killua swallows convulsively.

“I—I—” he tries to speak, but the words get lost before they reach his lips.

“You chose your sister, Killua. That’s okay. But you also chose to abandon Gon for her. I don’t have any idea why you did that, and neither does anybody else, but it was your choice, and we’ve respected it this far, and unless you make another choice, we will continue to do that. But you have no right to accuse us of keeping things from you when they’re things you’ve actively removed yourself from. Things you would have been the first to know otherwise.”

Killua trembles.

“I…I can’t…” he chokes. “I can’t leave Alluka alone.”

“She’s never alone, Killua,” Bisky sighs. “She has Nanika physically no matter where she is. She has me. And she’ll always have you. Putting an ocean between the two of you wouldn’t change that, not any more than putting a world between you and Gon can separate the two of you.”

“I left, Bisky,” he says desperately. “I chose to leave him. I can’t—I can’t go back after that. I can’t look him in the eyes knowing that I left him. Besides, he’s—I’m sure he’s better off with his dad, anyway.”

“He isn’t with Ging, you fool,” Bisky sighs. Killua blinks. “Did you really think he would ever take that idiotic man over you?”

“But…he wanted to travel the world with his dad…”

“He never said anything of the sort,” Bisky snorts. “He wanted to _find_ his father, of course. He would have traveled the world looking for the man, but travel the world _with_ him? There was only ever one person he thought about doing that with, and let me tell you, it was not Ging Freecs.”

_Stop it. Don’t say anymore. I can’t. I’m not strong enough. If you keep talking like that, I’ll leave my little sister behind again._

“Why do you think you can only have one person to love, Killua?” she says softly. He stiffens. “Why are you making yourself choose between the two people that mean more to you than anything else in the world? You don’t have to do that, so why?”

Why?

“I…” he says hoarsely. “I can’t…I don’t…I can’t have both of them…I don’t deserve that.”

“You stupid boy, I don’t know why I put up with you,” Bisky says, the affection in her tone belying her words. “You deserve to be happy. I think you deserve it the most, after everything you’ve been through. I promise they’d be more than willing to share you between the two of them.”

With those words, it’s like a dam built up inside of Killua bursts, and suddenly he’s lashed his arms around Bisky and his face is buried in her neck as tears push themselves, hot and wet, from his eyes and down his cheeks. Bisky makes a small noise of surprise, and tightens her hold on him, gloved fingers sliding through his dirty hair comfortingly.

“Those two love you so much, Killua,” she says quietly. “It’s not fair to either of them, or to yourself, to choose one over the other.”

Killua can’t say anything, can’t do anything but cry, and part of him, a small part that somehow remains somewhat sentient, is embarrassed by this ridiculous display. By the fact that being told he deserves to be happy brings him to tears. But he can’t bring himself to care, he can’t make himself stem the tears or choke back his sobs any longer. He’s been doing it for months, for Alluka’s sake.

 “You should be living for yourself, Killua, not for someone else,” Bisky says firmly. “Alluka is your little sister, and you feel you have to take care of her. But you don’t have to give up every part of yourself to do that. Gon is your precious friend, someone you love very dearly, and you feel like you have to prove it by giving him everything, but you don’t. You’ll never be happy if you always try to give everything you are to others.”

He’s been trying to be the strong big brother he’s supposed to be, trying to take care of Alluka no matter the cost to himself. He’s been giving her everything he has to give because he loves her, and he wants and needs to care for her. He’s been honest with her about that, and he knows she’s not always happy that he takes so much onto himself, but he hasn’t seen another way to love her.

Before that, he gave everything he had to Gon. Everything he possibly could give, he gave without a second thought, because he was trying to be the best friend he could be to the person that was his everything. He gave Gon all he had because loved his friend, and he loves him still. But he never even told Gon, and he never asked for anything in return. Gon never knew the sacrifices he made for his sake, and he had been okay with that. He still sort of is.

Killua chokes on another sob.

“Give some of yourself to both of them, _share_ all of yourself with them, but don’t give up everything you are. That way, you can love them both without it destroying you.”

Killua doesn’t know how long they kneel there, arms around each other while he cries brokenly into her shoulder like a child. All he knows is that the hand carding through his hair and the warmth wrapped around him feels achingly familiar, but at the same time, not. It’s a vague shadow of someone else, someone he once thought he could never see again, and all he wants in this instant is for that shadow to be real, for the arms around him and the hands touching him to belong to the person he’s gone too long without.

Eventually, the tears run dry, and he hastily pushes away from Bisky, rubbing his hand over his eyes quickly. She lets him go easily, hands falling away.

“Well?” she prompts when he finishes trying to piece his dignity back together.

“Mm?”

“What will you do now?”

Killua swallows thickly, and looks over at his sister. His heart stutters painfully, but it’s a good hurt, because she’s beaming at him in a way she hasn’t for a while now. Her eyes are glowing, the dimples in her cheeks prominent on either side of her wide smile, and when he catches her gaze, she nods her head vigorously.

He looks back at Bisky, and his momentary excitement subsides as he recalls what led to this situation in the first place. His chest tightens again, and from the look on Bisky’s face, he figures she knows that he’s preparing himself for the answer to his next question. She is entirely too sympathetic, and to be honest it looks incredibly out of place on her face. She’s never been the compassionate type towards Killua, and he knows that whatever he’s about to hear, he isn’t going to like.

“Where is he?” Killua asks. “Tell me what Leorio told you.”


	2. Chapter 2

When Killua gets off the airship in Yorknew City, his heart is in his throat and his hands are shaking at his sides. He knows where the hospital is, but he doesn’t want to go. He doesn’t want to see that building ever again, not as long as he lives. It’s a horrible place, dark and haunted by a past he wants to bury forever, but his feet start moving in that direction of their own accord, knowing that that’s exactly where he needs to be right now.

_“He seemed fine at first. He was just Gon, as hyper and reckless as ever, itching for a new adventure.”_

Killua shakes his head in a fruitless attempt to dispel Bisky’s words, but they run around in his head all the same, just as they had for the entirety of his sleepless flight.

_“But…he started pulling away from us after a couple of weeks. It was subtle at first; no one really noticed. But he started ignoring phone calls. Started getting more irritable when his friends talked to him.”_

He clenches his jaw, hands curling into fists in the pockets of his shorts.

_“He didn’t go back home at all. Apparently he hasn’t contacted his aunt at all in the past few months. He started getting hurt more often, and they were bad injuries, even for him.”_

“Idiot,” he says out loud. “Stupid, stupid moron. What’re you thinking?”

_“He became a floor master in Heavens Arena. I watched one of his matches once—it was being broadcast across tons of TV stations—he was…brutal. Not to his opponent, but to himself. He took some horrible hits, things he should’ve been able to block easily, just to get one hit of his own in. He was more reckless than he should have been.”_

“Someone saying _you’re_ being too reckless,” Killua growls to himself. “Should’ve sent up red flags, you asshole. Why would you…”

_“Leorio…he went to visit Gon at the arena. They let him up with an escort…He knocked and let himself in…”_

Killua doesn’t want to think about it. He doesn’t want to picture the scene that Bisky had described to him.

_“Gon was unconscious on the floor…the bones in his hands and arms were just…Leorio says they were shattered. There were places where they…where they stuck out of the skin.”_

He doesn’t want to picture his friend like that. He doesn’t want to think about the lean boy, sprawled on the floor of his room, arms broken in a hundred different places with shards of bone stabbing through his dark skin, with blood oozing onto the floor beneath him. He doesn’t want to picture Gon broken again. He doesn’t want to think about how he’d ended up like that.

_“Leorio thinks…Killua, Leorio thinks that Gon did it. There was no evidence that anyone else had entered his room. Leorio thinks that Gon was maybe training, punching something too hard for too long or something. What exactly happened was impossible to tell for sure, but…He’s very sure that Gon did it to himself. That it was intentional.”_

_“Why?” Killua asked around the lump of ice in his throat. “Why would he…”_

_Bisky shook her head._

_“I don’t know, Killua,” she said honestly. “All I know is that right now Gon isn’t okay, not physically, or mentally, and definitely not emotionally. And when someone as impulsive and naturally reckless as Gon becomes emotionally unstable, the victim of the backlash is almost always their own person.”_

Killua stops walking and looks up at the ugly square building in front of him. He doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to take one step further. His heart is thundering in his chest, blood roaring in his ears, and his nails are digging into his palms so deeply he can feel something hot and wet welling up around them. He shakes his head, trying to dispel his stupid fear, and forces himself to continue forward. Gon needs him. He has to be there. He has to be there now, because he wasn’t there when he should have been.

“Are you visiting someone?” the receptionist asks him when he steps up. He nods woodenly.

“Gon Freecs,” he answers.

The flicker of sympathy in her eyes should piss him off—sympathy from strangers always has—but all it does is make the knot in his stomach tighten.

“Fourth floor,” she says quietly, glancing at her paperwork. “Wing B, room 405.”

He’s not in a private sector this time. Killua isn’t sure if that’s a good thing or not, but he nods his thanks to her and moves to the stairs, taking them two at a time all the way up. People grumble when he bumps into them, but he doesn’t pay them any attention. They don’t matter to him in the slightest, and he’s not going to apologize for being in a hurry to get to the person that does.

However, he’s on the third floor landing when a voice calling his name stops him in his tracks, causing someone behind him to run into his back.

“Watch it, kid,” the man snaps, pushing around him.

Killua barely notices the grumpy old git, though. His eyes have locked on a tall figure on the other side of the stairs, clearly on their way down, wearing tacky blue scrubs and a pair of small, round glasses set on the end of a long nose. He’s staring at Killua with an expression that he can’t identify, mouth hanging open and his brow furrowed.

“Killua,” Leorio says again, and his voice is rough, like he’s been using it a lot.

“Leorio,” he answers, feeling a flutter of fear in his chest.

“What are you doing here?”

Killua blinks.

“I—I’m here for…for Gon,” he says clumsily. The words sound hollow, like he’s trying to pretend that it’s normal for him to be here, like he’s trying to pretend his long absence hasn’t happened.

Leorio opens his mouth, but doesn’t say anything and presses his lips back together. Killua is afraid to move, as though if he moves too suddenly he’ll awake something ugly that will then attack him. When Leorio starts moving toward him, he flinches and his hands close on the handrail behind him automatically, grasping it so hard his fingers shake. He’s anticipating anger—Leorio has always been…volatile, to say the least—whether it be shouted curses or flying fists. He’s anticipating blame. He’s anticipating hate.

He isn’t anticipating a hug. At first he doesn’t understand how his face ends up buried in the front of a crumpled blue scrub top, his nose mushed uncomfortably against a hard chest. However, when he registers the arms wrapped around his shoulders like a massive vice, he realizes that Leorio is embracing him, holding him so tightly it’s like he thinks he’ll slip away if he lets up.

“Damnit, kid, where have you been?” Leorio growls into his hair. “Been worried sick.”

“Leorio…” he says, startled.

“Between you and Gon, my hair’s gonna go gray before I’m thirty,” Leorio says, and he lifts Killua into the air, drawing a yelp from the smaller boy. “What have you been doing all this time?!”

“Leorio—can’t—breathe—” Killua rasps, pounding on his back.

All at once, Leorio drops him, smiling awkwardly and scratching the back of his neck. Killua massages his biceps, noting that his friend has a surprisingly strong grip to be able to cause him any sort of discomfort.

“Ah—sorry,” the taller one mumbles.

“’S fine,” Killua says with a shake of his head.

“C’mon, follow me,” Leorio says, gesturing for Killua to follow him back up the stairs. “They won’t let you in without me.”

Killua nods and falls into step at Leorio’s side, hands in his pockets.

“He’s been here for just over a week,” Leorio says, voice tight. “I think, between his Enhancer abilities and the surgeries, that he’s probably more or less recovered, but I’m trying to keep him here as long as possible.”

“Why?” Killua wonders. “Can you do that, if he’s fully recovered?”

“Fully recovered, no, I wouldn’t be able to get that by everyone,” Leorio confirms. “But most of the people here don’t know about Nen or how it works, so they think he’s still in a very delicate state at the moment, and I’m not gonna correct them. His arms are gonna take a while to be good as new, even with his healing abilities, and they’re still fragile right now. They definitely don’t _look_ healed, either.”

“You’re telling them anything that’ll keep him here,” Killua notices. He knows, and so does Leorio, that Gon’s raw Nen should be strong enough at this point to heal broken bones in days, depending on the severity. After a week, the injuries Bisky described to him wouldn’t have healed fully on their own, but between Nen and competent medical treatment, they wouldn’t be as delicate as Leorio seems to be implying they are. The man doesn’t so much as blush.

“I am,” he says bluntly. “If he’s here, he’s not fighting. If he’s here, he’s more or less safe from himself.”

Killua swallows.

“How bad is it?”

Leorio knows he isn’t asking about Gon’s arms.

“Killua…” he sighs, pausing as they reach the fourth floor landing. “I’ve…I’ve never seen someone like this before. Granted, I’m not exactly an experienced doctor yet, and I’m definitely not a psychologist, but…”

“Leorio, come on,” Killua says, prodding him in the side.

“He’s not the same person from the exam,” Leorio says heavily. “Obviously we’ve all changed, but what he’s done isn’t change. It’s like he’s vanished. He’s empty. Still walking and talking and fighting, obviously, but there’s nothing in it. If he smiles, it’s forced, and most of the time he doesn’t say anything. He hasn’t talked to his aunt in ages. He only talks to me because I don’t give him a choice, and he gets pretty pissed about it. It’s like he’s trying to disappear.”

Killua hesitates, and the hand in his pocket wraps around his phone. It’s been going off every few days, a call from the same number. Gon’s been shutting out everyone else, but…

“I thought…I thought it was just because of his dad,” Leorio continues. “Anyone would be irritated after going after this person they idolized and finally finding him just to learn that he’s a total piece of shit. But it didn’t add up. I don’t understand it, Killua, I don’t know what happened, but without you…God, without you Gon’s been in a really bad place, and nobody has any idea how to pull him out of it.”

Killua is biting his lip, thoughts swirling around his mind like flurries in a snowstorm, none coherent and none finished, but all with the same underlying emotion. Guilt.

_Without you, Gon’s been in a really bad place._

It’s happened since he left.

 _Without you_.

It’s because of him.

“Killua,” Leorio says sharply, and he looks up.

“Eh?” he mumbles.

“This isn’t your fault.”

Killua bites his lip and looks away, but Leorio’s never taken a subtle hint before, and he doesn’t now, clapping his hands down on Killua’s shoulders hard enough to make him wince.

“Gon’s always been an idiot,” Leorio says fiercely. “When his emotions get up really high, he’s prone to be an even bigger idiot. You didn’t make that happen. That’s how he’s always been.”

“But…” he says roughly. “If I hadn’t left…If I had still _been_ here, I could’ve stopped it.”

Leorio snorts.

“Maybe you could have,” he allows. “Without his voice of reason, there really was nothing stopping him from losing himself. But not being there to stop it doesn’t make you responsible for it, Killua. Otherwise most of the world would be guilty of the same thing.”

Unconvinced, Killua continues to gnaw on his lower lip, drawing a bead of blood that he swipes away with his tongue.

“Kid, thinking about what you could’ve done is pretty useless, don’t ya think?” Leorio sighs. “It’s not gonna change anything that’s happening. He needs you now, and now you’re here. Make the most of that, okay? Don’t be so focused on what you might’ve done that you don’t know what you can do now.”

It’s hard to believe that Killua ever thought of Leorio as stupid. He always seems to know what someone needs to hear, and he’s excellent about not pulling any punches, refusing to dance around the topic for fear of offending. Maybe it doesn’t have as much to do with his intelligence as his kindness, but Killua has come to understand he has both in abundance, though he’ll never give him that kind of ego boost by actually telling him.

Killua takes a deep breath, and nods once.

“You gonna take me to him or what?” he says in lieu of thanks.

Leorio blinks, and he looks like he might get angry. Then he loosens up and rolls his eyes, grumbling about bratty kids as he leads Killua down a hallway lined by patient rooms, most of which have the doors closed and the curtains drawn over the windows.

“He’s asleep right now,” Leorio says. “Pumped full of meds. It’s the only way we can keep him from jumping out of bed and running out of here, but you wouldn’t believe the amount of drugs it takes to keep him under.”

“Sure I wouldn’t,” Killua says drily. The drugs wouldn’t affect _him_ at all, and he could only imagine that Gon would need an exorbitant amount to even make him sleepy.

Leorio stops outside a closed door, and turns to face Killua, his expression unnervingly gentle.

“Do you want me to go in with you?” he asks.

Killua knows he’s thinking about the last time he saw Gon in the hospital, and he knows that Leorio suspects that he’s not entirely unaffected by being back here now.

“It’s nothing like last time,” he continues. “Really, you can barely tell anything’s wrong at all. But it’s still hard, I know, so…”

Killua hesitates, then nods slowly. He thinks he can manage alone, but the last thing he wants is to be proven wrong, and whatever he says about the man, Leorio has an amazingly calming presence. He’s tired of trying to prove that he can be independent by doing everything on his own, and he knows it’s pointless to do that when he doesn’t have to. So he nods, and Leorio sets a hand on his shoulder as he pushes the door open, allowing the white-haired boy to lead the way inside.

The curtains on the outside window are drawn, and the room is dimly lit by the tiny sliver of sunlight that manages to slip in between the squares of ugly-patterned fabric. It’s more than enough for Killua to see by, and his heart stutters in his chest. The drapes around the bed are open, leaving the person on the mattress quite visible. White sheets are tucked tightly under his armpits and around his body, bandaged arms lying uncovered at his sides. An IV tube is stuck in the back of his left hand, steadily pumping drugged fluids into the boy, whose expression is slack, mouth hanging open and drool sliding down the side of his face.

Were it not for the fact that he’s in the hospital, Killua would have found the picture achingly familiar, remembering hundreds of nights spent sleeping at his side, hundreds of times waking up in the night or staying up entirely to see that blissfully unaware, relaxed expression. Even the bandages aren’t much more than he’s had to deal with before; they seem more out of precaution than because they’re necessary, and the only thing staining them is sweat.

Killua cautiously approaches the side of the bed, eyes roving over Gon’s unconscious form, taking in everything he hasn’t seen in a very long time. He’s grown, several inches at least, and his hair doesn’t look like it’s been cut once since he saw him last. It’s shaggy, curling around his jaw and neck and splayed out across the pillow. Killua thinks it’s probably long enough to be pulled back into a ponytail; certainly it’s long enough to hang past his shoulders. It might be his imagination putting more years of absence than there were, but Killua thinks Gon’s features have sharpened as well, his cheeks not quite so full and his jaw stronger than before. He’s bulked up, too. The bandaged arms at his sides are thicker than Killua remembers, and the body the sheets cling to is broader and more muscular.

But Leorio was wrong when he said you could barely tell something was wrong. Killua knew the instant he looked at Gon that something was very off, and maybe it’s simply his training, but the little changes are glaringly obvious to him. The back of Gon’s hand where it’s unbandaged is covered in new wounds, some old enough to be considered scars but not all. Marks like that peak out from under the sheet, crisscrossing over his bare chest and some climbing onto his neck. There are fading bruises around Gon’s neck, things barely there, and Killua isn’t surprised that Leorio missed them, but he doesn’t, and his jaw clenches when he recognizes them as finger marks, left behind by someone trying to strangle him. There are shadows under his eyes and lines etched far too deeply into his face for a teenager, lines around his eyes and mouth like he’s spent a good deal of time scowling, something Gon has never had a habit of doing. His nose is slightly crooked—broken one too many times to heal properly.

He looks like hell. And he’s brought it all onto himself.

Killua reaches out with a shaking hand to touch the arm nearest him, and Leorio makes a small noise of protest behind him that he ignores. Carefully, he starts to unravel the wrappings, letting them drop onto the bed once off, so that he can stare at the bare arm held gingerly in his hands. It’s not as horrible as last time. It isn’t a withered, dead thing that threatens to crumble to nothing if handled too roughly. But the sight of it is still a punch in the gut to Killua.

The arm is more bruise than not, marbled red and blue and purple with yellow undertones that suggest the marks are trying to fade, but not doing a very good job. There are long rows of stitches at random intervals, sewing together wounds that Killua knows with a sickness in his heart to be where the broken bones punctured the skin. It feels too warm under Killua’s touch, a product not simply of Gon’s above average body temperature but the amount of strain said body is under while trying to repair itself.

Abruptly, Killua rises to his feet, dropping the arm back onto the bed. Leorio yelps at the sudden movement, but his surprise doesn’t slow down his reaction when he sees Killua moving for the door. His arm shoots out and catches Killua by the elbow, jerking him back.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Leorio demands.

Killua scuffs his heel on the floor and looks anywhere but his best friend lying on the bed.

“I—I can’t be here,” he says weakly. “He’ll…when he wakes up…Leorio, he’s gonna hate me.”

Leorio stares at him as if he’s grown a second head.

“You dumbass,” he says incredulously. “How could you think that?”

“Look at what happened because I left!” he exclaims, wincing at his own volume and lowering it just in case he manages to rouse Gon from his drugged slumber. “Even if I didn’t cause it, it’s my fault he’s resorted to this. How could he not hate me after all this?”

“Killua Zoldyck, I knew you were dense when I met you,” Leorio says, and Killua might protest, but he doesn’t care enough about the hit on his character at the moment. “But if you really believe Gon could ever, _ever_ be capable of hating you, you must be one of the dumbest people alive. You are the most important person to Gon in this whole world, and even _if_ he’s mad at you, you will never, ever be anything else.”

Palm said something like that before. Something about Killua being the most important person in Gon’s life. Back when he was so broken, so utterly shattered because his friend was losing himself more and more with each passing second, and nothing Killua said could reach him. He didn’t think he could do anything. He was sure that he would never be able to get through to Gon, and really, he still doesn’t think he did. But nobody else stood a shadow of the chance that he had then.

And Leorio’s telling him the same thing now, and it’s not any easier for him to believe, though he wants to even more than he did back then.

“When Gon wakes up,” Leorio continues, tightening his grip on Killua’s arm. “You are coming back here to see him, and I am going to leave the two of you alone to your tearful and probably snotty reunion, and you are going to get it through your thick head that Gon has never loved anybody more in his life than he loves you. Got it? If you leave now, you’re a dead man.”

Killua’s heart stops briefly, like it does every time somebody tries to convince him that Gon really cares, that he loves him. It hurts, it hurts so much, because he wants to believe it, and some part of him does even though he knows it’s a stupid thing to hope for. All he’s wanted since the Hunter Exam four years ago was Gon, as a friend, a family member, as anything and everything he was willing to be. It’s the best kind of hurt to imagine that Gon feels the same way.

“I can’t kill you,” Leorio says, voice low. “Kurapika could. But he wouldn’t get the chance, because Bisky and your sister would have your head before he could make it back here if you went back to them now. You know as well as I do that they’re not going to tolerate you leaving again. None of us are. You’re already here, and you’d better damn well stay.”

His fingers twitch, and Killua isn’t sure if he wants to punch Leorio or hug him again, though he feels like he’s going to start crying before he manages to do either of those things.

“Gon needs you, Killua,” Leorio says, much more gently. “And you need Gon. Don’t leave him again.”

Killua feels himself break a little inside all over again. Something of it probably shows on his face, because Leorio sighs and tugs him in for another hug, not as tight as the one on the stairs but not any less vehement. His own arms slide around Leorio this time, though, and he hides his face in the man’s shoulder as he fights back the tears welling up in his eyes. He’s not going to cry. Not here. He’s had more than enough of that to last several lifetimes over, and he isn’t going to add to it now, when this is something he shouldn’t be crying about to begin with.

He’s being stupid. He knows he’s being stupid and it’s a thing he thought he had sworn never to be again. Everybody is telling him he’s needed, everybody is telling him that there’s something he can do, that he’s the only one that can do it, and he knows they’re right. He might not have known Gon as long as Kurapika or Leorio, and certainly not as long as Mito, and he still doesn’t think he understands his friend as well as some others do, but that’s exactly why he’s the only one that can make that idiot see sense.

Killua gave up a long time ago on trying to understand what goes through Gon’s head and chose instead to simply take it as it comes. Without worrying about trying to predict the idiot’s thoughts and prepare ahead of time, he relies on his instincts to guide him with Gon, and they have yet to fail him when he trusts them. Responding to Gon on the spur of the moment is the best way to handle him, and Killua is the only one that can do that.

“You’re right,” he says roughly when he pulls back. “Sorry.”

“Better?” Leorio says.

“Yeah,” he answers, nodding. “Yeah, I am. Where am I gonna stay tonight?”

Leorio give him a broad grin. “You can stay with me. They actually let me go for the day—I was heading out when I saw you—so you can just come with me.”

Killua blinks, glances over at Gon, then nods once. He’ll stay with Leorio. He’ll come back when Gon wakes up. He can do this. He will do this.

And it’ll be okay.


	3. Chapter 3

Killua wakes up when he falls off the couch. Or maybe he wakes up when he hears Leorio shouting, and falls off the couch in response. He doesn’t know. The events are simultaneous, and ultimately the reason he wakes up is irrelevant because he’s awake, on the floor, and for the second time in as many days, his heart is in his throat because of a phone call not meant for him.

Leorio is shouting at his cellphone, almost seeming to swallow it—or maybe it’s just Killua’s still-tired eyes playing tricks on him—as he stands in the doorway in pajama pants, trying to put on a white button-down shirt with one hand. The look on his face makes Killua go cold even though he’s still wrapped in the blanket that fell off the couch with him.

“How could he just _walk out_?!” Leorio bellowed. Killua’s heart stops. “He was still in a hospital gown! Who just—”

He stops and closes his eyes.                                                        

“No, you’re right, the receptionist couldn’t have known,” he sighs.

He glances over at the couch and sees Killua peeking over the coffee table from the floor, eyes wide and face pale as ash. Grimacing, Leorio mouths words that Killua already assumed: _Gon left last night_.

“I _know_ he was more or less healed,” he groans into the phone. “But still…”

Killua is on his feet now, the blanket thrown onto the couch as he fumbles for his shoes, yanking them on forcefully. He feels Leorio’s eyes on him as he throws on his jacket and scrambles for his bag, but the man doesn’t try to stop him or ask where he’s going. He knows, and he’s probably one of the last people that will stop Killua now that he’s finally, finally made up his mind. Just before he rushes out of the house, Leorio sets a hand on his shoulder and he turns to meet his gaze. Holding the phone briefly away from his mouth, Leorio gives him some parting advice.

“Don’t watch the matches, Killua,” he says seriously. “You don’t want to see that.”

Then he returns to his phone call, and Killua is outside, the door slamming loudly behind him as he takes off at a dead sprint for the airport, only one thing on his mind. If he’s lucky, he might get there before Gon has even left, but he has yet to be lucky, so he doesn’t have much hope for that. He’ll need another ticket, and he’s just glad he has his Hunter License to cover the expense because all of this flying gets expensive quickly.

He wonders if Heavens Arena will let a Floor Master that’s been absent for almost two weeks take their spot back without having to win their way up again, and figures for Gon they probably will. Which means he’ll be jumping right back into some of the most serious battles the arena has to offer, battles that he is absolutely not ready for physically or mentally. Killua’s stomach twists as he realizes what he’s hoping for, because it’s another shadow of the NGL that hasn’t left him yet.

_Wait for me. Please, just wait._

He won’t. Killua knows that now. The difference this time, that he can’t be angry about, is that Gon doesn’t even know he’s on his way. He can’t wait for someone he doesn’t know is coming.

Killua bursts through the doors of the airport and hurriedly searches out the desk he needs, requesting to be put on the first airship due for the Republic of Padokea. It leaves in fifteen minutes. He takes his ticket, hands the receptionist his license to scan, and then takes it back and hurries to the gate, which is actually already in the process of boarding. Finally, a stroke of luck, small though it is.

Within half an hour of waking up in Leorio’s home, Killua is in the air, bag tucked under his seat and his heart hammering in his chest. He toys with the idea of sleeping the trip away, but he doesn’t think his body can fall asleep right now for the adrenaline coursing through it, on top of the fact that he needed about a third the sleep of an ordinary human being. Right now he thinks that particular training is a curse, because sleeping would make the trip faster and keep him from running through incredibly unhelpful thoughts.

What if Gon gets hurt again before Killua even gets there? What if Killua can’t get up to see him? What if he has to fight his way all the way back up, and Killua’s only hope is to catch up to him, because there is no spectating the early floors? What if, what if, what if…

Killua shakes his head fiercely and glares out the window. He hates being trapped in his own head; his mind is a breeding ground for worst case scenarios, courtesy of his older brother, and he can’t entertain those scenarios right now. They’ll only distract him and slow him down. He has to believe in Gon. He has to believe his friend can hold out until he can get to him and reaffirm his status as the Voice of Reason that Gon’s clearly gone without for too long. He has to believe that Gon is alright. If he doesn’t have faith, he’s going to crumble and fall apart all over again, and he will not ever let that happen.

The next few hours are torture for Killua, who starts to wonder if he might have been able to make it there faster in Godspeed, but figures it probably wouldn’t have been a smart choice. Even if it is faster, he doesn’t want to think about something going wrong while he’s trying to run across the sea. The flight attendants are all very pleasant, continuously offering food and refreshments, but he wishes they would stop. He wants to be left alone at the moment. He thinks best when uninterrupted, and right now he’s trying to think of how to approach Gon. How to say what he needs to say even though he isn’t sure what exactly that is.

Two years is a long time, and Killua doesn’t know where to begin to bridge that gap, but he knows that he has to try, and he has to succeed.

He needs to tell Gon so much. He needs to tell him why he left, and that he’s sorry he did it instead of explaining his reasons. He needs to tell Gon that he’s sorry he hasn’t been there for him. He needs to tell Gon that he’s here for him now, if he can find it in himself to let Killua back into his life after this. He needs to tell Gon that it’s okay. That it’s okay to be scared, and upset, and so broken you can’t see as far as tomorrow. He needs to tell him that he knows it’s hard, but he can’t let it consume him like this anymore, he can’t keep pushing everyone out.

Killua hangs his head in his hands, fingers knotting into his hair in frustration.

“I have to find him before I can tell him anything,” he groans irately. “How many floors am I gonna have to tear through before I get to his?”

What will he do when he sees Killua? Will he even recognize him? Will he not care that it’s him? Will he be angry, or upset? Or worse, will he feel nothing at all? Will he just look at Killua, remember two years of hard friendship followed by two years of nothing, and brush him off as not even worth his time?

“Excuse me, sir,” a stewardess says from the aisle, leaning toward him. He jumps slightly in surprise and looks around at her. “We’ll be arriving in the Republic of Padokea shortly.”

“Ah—thanks,” he says, bowing his head. Funny how time flies when he contemplates the wellbeing of his best friend and whether or not said friend still considers _him_ a friend.

He pulls his bag out from under the chair in front of him and sets it on his lap, prepared to leap into the aisle the moment the airship touches down so that he doesn’t have to wait for the old geezers shuffling off slower than cold molasses.

 _Please_ , Killua pleads silently. _Please, Gon, just wait. Please wait for me_.

* * *

Two days ago, Killua was sent straight to floor 197, and now, he’s pacing back and forth in his room on the 200 th floor after a disappointingly easy match, anxiously wishing that he could fight more than once a day. He has nothing to do right now, unless he wants to go watch more boring matches, and at least when he’s fighting, he’s getting closer to Gon. A few times he’s gotten some decent opponents—still nobody up to his level, but closer than most—and for a short time Killua got to focus completely on the fight and push everything else from his mind. It’s therapeutic in its own way, and he understands why Gon decided to come here to get out of his own head, even though he’s taken it too far.

“He’ll probably be fighting someone soon…” Killua muses aloud, pausing to look at his door.

 _Don’t watch the matches, Killua_.

He swallows thickly. Leorio is without a doubt right. There’s no way Killua is going to like what he sees if he watches one of Gon’s fights, and it would likely haunt him and affect his performance later. But…

_He was…brutal. Not to his opponent, but to himself._

Part of Killua wants to see it for himself. Wants to see proof of the deterioration he’s only been told of so far.

_He took some horrible hits, things he should’ve been able to block easily, just to get one hit of his own in. He was more reckless than he should have been._

Whether it’s out of sick curiosity, or a masochistic desire to torture himself further for what happened in his absence, Killua can’t say. It’s probably a mixture of both. All he is sure of is that his feet are carrying him out the door and down the hall to the main desk.

“When’s Gon Freecs’ next match?” he asks, as casually as possible.

The woman at the desk looks glumly at her computer screen.

“Tonight at eight thirty,” she tells him.

Killua swallows, and when he returns to his room, it’s with a ticket zipped securely in his jacket pocket. He has two and a half hours to sit and mull over his stupid decision, berating himself for choosing to undergo more mental torture than his family has ever managed to prepare him for. Two and a half hours in which he has time to pawn off the ticket and forgo his near mistake, and two and a half hours in which the ticket stays in his pocket.

“This is stupid,” he tells himself as he walks to the arena seating. “Making a big deal out of nothing. I bet it’s not even gonna be that bad.”

It’s a weak attempt to make himself feel better, and he’s no more convinced by his words than he would be if someone else is saying them to him. It’s going to be at _least_ every bit as bad as he’s expecting, if Gon’s injuries from the hospital—inflicted _outside_ of any fights—are any indication. So it’s little wonder that his fingers are trembling at his sides as he takes his seat and waits for the lights to dim. People mill about excitedly all around him, and it pisses him off when they talk in stupefied awe about the floor master’s totally brutal style. They idolize him and his self-destructive fights, and it makes Killua sick to his stomach that anybody can find pleasure in something as sick as that. But then, they don’t know any better. He can’t punish them for being ignorant, and throwing them over the railing of the seating and into the ring might be cause to get him kicked out before the match even starts.

The lights dim. A hush falls over the crowd. The announcer starts her hype. Killua doesn’t listen to a word of it. His eyes are glued to the spot where Gon will walk out in seconds, and his fingers are curled into fists on his knees, nails cutting into his palms. Smoke starts pouring out around the dark entrance, and spotlights all converge on it.

Killua can’t suppress a shiver that runs through him when Gon marches out of the fog, shoulders thrown back and head held high, his face set like a mask of emotionless stone. He makes an impressive figure, aided by the fact that he’s ditched the startlingly tiny shorts he used to wear and his green jacket in favor of a well-fitting black tank top and loose white training pants. Even his boots are different; black instead of green, with his pants tucked into them. His hair is indeed pulled back into a raven ponytail like Killua suspected at the hospital. It’s a good look for him, Killua can’t deny, and it’s not only a definite improvement from his old clothes but also far more flattering of his matured figure. The bandages he’s left wrapped around his arms only add to the intimidating appearance, but that’s where Killua’s admiration stops and his fear begins. Only he knows that Gon leaves those there to hide gross discoloration and minor swelling.

“Gon…” he whispers, eyes flicking briefly over to the challenger.

It’s a guy Killua’s seen fighting in Heavens Arena on TV before, some weirdo with shiny blonde hair that he definitely spends too much time on and wearing a flamboyantly colored training suit with the number eleven on the back in obnoxious green sequins. However, despite his strange appearance, his aura is large and intense, refined from years of fighting his way up Heavens Arena several times over, and it greatly overshadows the current state of Gon’s Nen.  He recognizes him as a potential threat, and looks back to his friend, who stands with his hands in the pockets of his pants in the middle of the ring. Killua frowns. The hands in the pockets is a new development. It’s something that he does a lot himself, and something that on occasion Gon used to tease him about.

It’s not something he should be doing against an opponent with an aura like that.

“Match…” the announcer said excitedly. “ _START!_ ”

Gon’s opponent is fast, and Killua can almost believe he’s fast enough to get that hit in to Gon’s chest on his own merit. However, Gon doesn’t give any sign of attempting to block, and Killua knows better than to think he wouldn’t even have time to move. It’s a far cry from being powerful enough to push Gon back—the challenger is clearly testing the waters—but it is enough to make him wince, something that the majority probably misses. Killua grits his teeth, watching as the challenger dances back smugly, having no idea that he was given that hit and probably will be given quite a few more.

 _Idiot_ , Killua wants to snap. At who, he doesn’t know, but it doesn’t matter. They’re both idiots.

The challenger lunges in again, and lands a fist to the side of Gon’s face, forcing his head to snap to the side and causing him to stagger slightly. This time, however, a scarred hand closes like a vice on the opponent’s wrist, and Killua can’t help the way the corner of his lips twitches at the expression on the stranger’s face as he’s lifted off his feet and flung back to the very edge of the ring. With that, Killua notices that Gon hasn’t completely forgotten how to control his strength, because even without his Nen at full strength, the other boy could have easily sent him flying clear into the stands. The revelation causes Killua some confusion, because he doesn’t know if he should be glad that some part of Gon remembers his training, or if he should be upset that Gon’s only restraint is shown to other people and not himself.

Killua forces those thoughts down, determined to focus on the fight in front of him and fall apart about the details of it later in the privacy of his room. The opponent has climbed to his feet and is eyeing Gon a bit more warily now, slowly beginning to circle around him. Gon doesn’t follow, continuing to stand where is without so much as turning his head. His hands have returned to his pockets.

 _Gon, stop this,_ Killua thinks as the challenger, now behind Gon, moves forward, stopping just shy of hitting him to test his reaction. The muscles in Gon’s jaw twitch subtly, but Killua is one of the few to notice. _This isn’t like you at all._

The next blow is to the back of Gon’s neck, and were it meant to be a finishing blow, Gon would be out cold. However, the challenger still isn’t using his full strength, and Gon only moves forward a single step. Before the challenger can move back, Gon kicks him in the midsection and sends him sprawling, still without turning to face him. The attack is still gauged, and the tackily clad challenger manages to twist midair to land on his feet, a toothy smile spreading across his face.

When he continues to stand where he is, just looking at Gon with that same smug smirk, a nagging feeling in Killua’s stomach prompts him to use _Gyo_. He’s glad he does, because his suspicions are confirmed. The challenger’s aura is pulsing around him, spiking in places and twisting in others, and though Killua can’t tell what exactly it is, he knows he’s activating his Nen ability.

Based on where he’s standing and how he’s preparing himself, Killua rules out the possibility of him being an Enhancer—he’s too far away to be putting to use any up close and personal advantage. He’s probably not a Transmuter either, because Killua could recognize similarities then, and nothing in this person’s aura is similar to his or Hisoka’s. He might say Conjurer, but the man isn’t creating anything material with his aura, so that’s not very likely. Killua also doesn’t see anything physically responding to his aura, which makes him think that he not a Manipulator either. That leaves the possibility of him being either an Emitter or a Specialist. Neither is an auspicious opponent for an Enhancer, because an Emitter can fight from long range whereas an Enhancer is almost exclusively close combat, and a Specialist is a complete wild card.

Killua looks over to Gon, and his stomach flips. Gon is standing exactly where he’s been since the start of the match, but his face is pale beneath his natural tan, his eyes squeezed tightly shut and his jaw clenched. Whatever the other person’s ability is, Killua fears it’s already at work, and since he has yet to see anything substantial, he concludes that the challenger is most likely a Specialist. Power: unknown, but capable of leaving Gon visibly shaken. Focusing his _Gyo_ on the entire ring, Killua tries to find some clue that will tell him what the shiny-clothed bastard is playing at, and he notices that his aura has linked with Gon’s and is methodically pushing it back. It’s almost like it’s trying to push Gon’s aura into his body.

The thought makes Killua shudder. He has no idea how that would feel, but he suspects it isn’t going to be as comfortable as _Zetsu_ , because it doesn’t look like he’s trying to repress it. It looks like he’s trying to _compress_ it, forcing a lot of very active energy into a small area. At first, Killua doesn’t understand, thinking that this seems counterproductive in a fight. Wouldn’t making such a compact ball of pure energy make your opponent stronger? In what world would that be a good idea?

However, when Gon tries to turn toward his opponent, eyes still screwed tightly shut, and staggers, apparently unable to coordinate himself, Killua understands. Aura is as much a physical part of Nen-users as it is metaphysical. It has a direct impact on the body’s health and functionality, and is linked intimately with the senses. Forcing a person’s aura back until it’s incredibly compact does make them technically stronger, but it’s also making the body itself more delicate, heightening every sense and giving the potential to throw a person into absolute sensory overload and leaving them incapable of functioning properly.

This is a bad opponent for Gon. Killua feels his stomach sink as Gon’s challenger walks forward without a care in the world, strutting across the ring like it’s a stage. Gon stands stiff as a board, his skin the color ash, and Killua can only stare, transfixed, as the challenger reaches out casually and swats Gon’s cheek as though swatting an irksome fly. The way Gon reels backward confirms Killua’s fear. His senses are absolutely on overdrive, and his sense of touch is sensitive enough to find a light slap painful enough for an instinctual retreat.

If Killua hopes the duress will bring out some part of the real Gon, however, he is mistaken. Before, if something like this happened, Gon would likely have punched straight down, disrupting and demolishing the entire floor and throwing his opponent off-balance enough to distract them from using their Nen. Gon would have used that brief interlude to gather his bearings and launch himself at his opponent, ending the match before they even got a chance to try again. But this isn’t Gon, not the one Killua knows, and this Gon plants his feet once more and straightens his back again, despite his pained expression and the fact that his already acute hearing is now being assaulted with noises he can’t possibly distinguish and the smells probably threatening to burn his nose right off at the same time that they invite him to empty the contents of his stomach.

The challenger says something that nobody can hear, least of all Gon, and Killua scowls. Had he watched this person fight anybody else, he would have admired his ability, been impressed by it even. But this isn’t anybody else. It’s Gon, and he’s in too much pain already without this asshole making it worse.

He darts in, tucking his fist to his shoulder and bringing his elbow crashing into the side of Gon’s head, no longer holding back to gauge reactions or have some fun. He’s fighting to win with a blow like that, and Killua feels bile rise in his throat, imagining how badly that must have hurt as Gon is knocked to the floor.

 _Don’t get up_ , he pleads. _Don’t do this. Don’t hurt yourself more. Stay down._

Of course Gon doesn’t stay down, though. He’s back on his feet in a moment, clearly dazed from the blow but already past it. The challenger is surprised, but he’s smirking as he approaches Gon again, drawing back one fist even as he reaches out to catch a handful of his tank top.

Then Gon’s eyes flash open, and even though his entire face is contorted with discomfort, his lips twist into something like a smile as he grabs a hold of his opponent’s wrist. Killua stares at him, wide-eyed, as he easily catches the punch sailing for his face and grips it so hard he thinks the bones probably break. He pulls the person in so close that their foreheads nearly touch, but Killua can still see him from this angle. Can still see his lips move, forming words Killua reads, words that leave him feeling physically ill.

 _It doesn’t hurt_.

The man is sent flying from the ring in the next instant without anybody quite sure how it happens.

The crowd all around Killua erupts, but Killua is frozen in his seat. Gon didn’t use his Nen for more than guarding, didn’t use Gyo once, and took a myriad of pretty serious blows. He flung his opponent out of the ring like it was nothing, and it probably was, but he took way too much damage before he did.

He isn’t fighting bravely, he’s fighting stupidly. He isn’t stronger than before, he just doesn’t care about his pain anymore.

 _It doesn’t hurt_.

Killua grits his teeth and lurches to his feet, shoving his way through the crowd, refusing to let that memory resurface. It doesn’t matter, that part is over. It’s been over, and he’s not going to let it start again. He has to get through his next fights fast. He has to get to Gon as soon as possible, before he faces somebody that doesn’t waste their time playing with their opponents before they ruin them.

He goes straight to the registration desk to sign up for the next available fight, which is early tomorrow morning. Whatever, he isn’t going to be able to sleep tonight anyway, so he’s not going to have a problem with waking up. This fight will make number three, and he’s going to do everything in his power to bypass the rules that space the fights out. The more he can get finished in a day, the closer he is to his goal.

With a lot of pushing and needling, Killua manages to coerce the woman into giving him another fight tomorrow as well, one in the afternoon, and he returns to his room feeling a small amount of smugness at cheating the system and a huge amount of nerves as he gets closer to meeting Gon.

“What do you think you’re playing at, you idiot?” Killua sighs as he flings himself onto his bed. “That’s not what Bisky or Wing or Kite taught you. You’ve always been reckless, but this…”

He doesn’t want to acknowledge it, but he knows it’s very similar to what happened in the NGL. Gon’s losing himself, being driven by something Killua doesn’t understand, though he strongly suspects it’s anger or grief, and he’s trying to let it out the only way he knows how. Except this time, the recipient is himself, not a Chimera Ant, which means whatever turmoil he’s in right now, he thinks he’s the one to blame. He hasn’t been able to find anybody else responsible for what’s paining him, so he’s turned to punishing himself.

_It doesn’t hurt._

Killua wonders if Gon pictures other people in place of his opponents when they hit him. People he thinks he’s failed, people he thinks he doesn’t deserve, people he thinks might very well hate him. It’s something Killua used to do, unwillingly, but something he’s managed to stop. With an icy hand twisting his heart, Killua wonders if Gon imagines him when he’s attacked.

So many phone calls, so many texts left unanswered, so many opportunities to meet that were passed by. Does Gon think Killua hates him? That he’s ignoring his attempts to communicate because he’s sick and tired of them—of _him_? It’s different from what he feared before, but he thinks it might be even worse than Gon hating him. He doesn’t want his weakness to hurt Gon even more, even though he doesn’t understand how it _can’t_ , when they promised they’d always be friends, when they said they’d keep in touch, and Killua hasn’t made good on that vow once. He left because they did nothing but hurt each other. He doesn’t want to think that his absence has just made that worse.

A buzz from his pocket has him jerk upright, letting out a yelp of shock even as he frantically struggles to retrieve his phone. On the third ring he manages to get it out of his pocket, and one glance at the caller ID tells him that it’s the same number as always. Killua bites his lip. He wants to answer, but what will he say if he does? There’s no way he’ll be able to hide that he’s at Heavens Arena if he talks to Gon, no way to hide his horror from watching his match, and then entering under a pseudonym would have been a total waste of time, and Gon will have too much time to run away again.

Ironic that Killua’s no longer the one bent on escape.

He’s still deliberating his chances of talking to Gon without letting something important slip—because despite his training and his incredibly gifted silver tongue, it’s all somehow forgotten with Gon—when the phone stops vibrating and goes dark and silent again. He doesn’t leave a voicemail. He used to leave one after every call, but he hasn’t left one for a while as of late. It’s Killua’s fault for never responding. At this point it seems like Gon calls simply out of habit, not expecting or even hoping that Killua might answer anymore, and then hangs up when his expectations prove correct.

Does he call after every match he has?

Killua’s eyes are fixed on his phone, and hesitantly, he turns it on and goes to his messages for the first time in years. There’s been so many that the phone has had to delete the oldest ones to make room for the newer ones, but Killua goes back to the very oldest message that his phone hasn’t yet removed. It’s from four months after they split.

_Back at Whale Island for a couple weeks. Mito says hi, and she expects a visit from you soon. How are you and Alluka?_

Killua’s lips curve upward. He misses Gon’s aunt, and the way she doted on him like he was her own child. He likes the idea of going to see her, and he’s considered it on multiple occasions, but he’s always come up with some excuse not to go. His smile slips, and he goes to the next message, sent a couple of days after the first.

_I found a cave that I don’t remember being here before! It was protected by Nen, but when I went inside, there was nothing there except an old hat. I think it might’ve been Ging’s._

A week later.

 _I don’t know where I’m going next, but I might not be in service. I think I’m gonna go to one of the restricted nations that only Hunters can get in though. Sounds like fun. Wish me luck_.

Over a month after that.

_Well, I was right. No service. But there were a lot of animals I’ve never even heard of before, and some group was poaching them on protected territory. They put up a fight, but I took care of them. I’m getting better at Paper for my Jajanken, too. What are you and Alluka doing?_

Two weeks later. Killua notices that he’s starting to lose some of his enthusiasm in his messages.

_Leorio’s mad at me because I’m stuck in the hospital again. Got in a fight with some creeps in Yorknew and ended up with a broken leg and hip. I think he’s overreacting. I’ll be fine in a couple weeks. Have you been anywhere exciting lately?_

Another week, and Killua receives his first punch to the gut.

_I slipped out of the hospital early. Leorio’s gonna be mad when he finds out, but I’m already fine and sitting in that room is driving me crazy. You should text me back. We could meet up somewhere. This stuff isn’t the same without you._

He grits his teeth and keeps scrolling. Two days later.

_Do you know how to change your phone number? Leorio won’t quit calling me._

It’s the first sign that something is starting to go wrong. Gon has never wanted to just cut someone away like that before. Another week goes by.

_I’ve been working on my Nen some more. Can hold it for four hours and seven minutes now. It’s weird though, like it’s pushing against me. I guess it’s because I’m having to unlock it all over again. I’m used to talking to you when I practice Nen. I looked over to tell you something and you weren’t there. We should really meet up soon._

Killua feels the first tears pricking at his eyes guiltily. He knows what Gon was talking about. He’s lost count of the times he’s trained to prolong his Nen and looked to his side to talk to his friend, just for something to do, and been faced with an empty space instead of amber eyes. It leaves a sour taste in his mouth every time.

The next message is almost a month later.

_I think I’m gonna go to Heavens Arena. I wanna get stronger, but no one I meet puts up much of a challenge anymore. Maybe I’ll see Zushi._

The next day.

_We could meet there. If you want._

Killua grits his teeth and pretends that the hot moisture rolling down his cheeks isn’t real.

_They sent me to floor 120 this time. I’ll be at 200 in no time. This is easier than I remember it being. You’d probably get sent straight to the top now, as strong as you are._

The next week. He’s definitely not crying.

 _Won 3 matches on floor 200 so far. Next one is in a couple hours. If you’re by a TV you could watch_.

Killua closes his eyes and rubs his arm across them, furiously trying to erase the tears still leaking from the corners. He scrolls through the messages faster now, hoping for something, anything, any sign that something’s changed, but never once does Gon seem to need help. Months go by, months and months without replies, and still Gon has messaged him, not telling him that anything is wrong or that he’s hurting, or how many times he’s landed himself in the hospital. Months go by, and Gon is telling him he still wants to meet up, that he can watch his match on TV if he wants. He scrolls past message after message, telling him how long Gon can hold his Nen, telling him how many fights he’s won, telling him he’s become a floor master, asking how he is, what he’s doing, how his little sister is liking her newfound freedom. Everything Killua could have talked to him about, everything he would have wanted to share, Gon is asking, and Killua’s been ignoring. And other than hints like wanting to change his number so Leorio will stop calling him, Gon says nothing about how dark his life is becoming. How much pain he’s in, how much he’s punishing himself or what he’s doing it for. Nothing. Like even after all this, even after being given no sign that Killua has even read his messages, he doesn’t want Killua to worry. Or he doesn’t think Killua cares.

The idea hurts, but Killua dismisses it. If Gon truly thinks Killua doesn’t care, he wouldn’t send message after message and make call after call. Not even about the frivolous things. Some part of him still believes in Killua, even after everything.

When his phone makes an ominous groaning noise, Killua realizes that he’s clutching it far too tightly and drops it onto his lap. He’s been an idiot. Maybe if he hadn’t ignored those attempts to reach out, if he had just said something every once in a while, Gon wouldn’t be here now. If he had proven that he still cares, instead of leaving Gon to hope for it.

Tears are falling in earnest now, sliding down his nose and chin and dripping onto his lap, splashing against the backs of his fists. He has to fix this.

His fights can’t come soon enough.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, this chapter was just not quite long enough for me to cut in half, so here you go. Semi-grande finale in ridiculously long chapter

Sitting in the waiting room ten minutes before the one match he came for, Killua wonders if Gon even recognizes the name he’s entered under. Normally he wouldn’t question it, but Gon hasn’t been in his right mind, so it might have skated right by him. Not that it matters. The important thing isn’t whether he recognizes a fake name or not. It’s what his response will be when he sees his opponent.

Outside, he hears as Gon is announced. He wants to be angry with the way the crowd roars, but he knows they’re just here to watch a good fight, and Gon’s provided them with plenty of those so far. They don’t understand the price he’s paying for those fights.

Groaning, Killua climbs to his feet, studiously ignoring the butterflies battering the inside of his stomach as he walks to the door and flings it open. There’s no smoke for him, and a single spotlight lands on his figure as the woman at the mic shouts to be heard over the crowd. He doesn’t pay any attention to her, though, eyes locked on the figure that hasn’t yet looked around to the door.

“Meet the challenger, Nigg!”

Killua watches Gon stiffen and whip around, and he strides out of the entrance with his hands tucking casually in his pockets. Above the two of them, the crowd cheers and boos and goes quite ignored, because blue has locked on gold, and Killua feels suddenly braver now that he’s here, the anticipation disappearing and leaving only his resolve. Right now, it’s just him and just Gon, and nobody watching matters.

The moment of recognition is instantaneous. Gon’s amber eyes go wide, and he moves for a moment as if he’s going to launch himself at Killua, whether in a hug or a tackle or his favorite mix of the two. Killua offers a small smile and says, in a soft voice that carries easily across the ring as he climbs the stairs, “Hey, Gon.”

Gon takes a step back, his own hands falling out of his pockets.

“Killua?” he says, and Killua feels a muscle in his jaw twitch. Gon’s voice is lower and rougher than it used to be. Has his own voice changed that much?

“Obviously,” he responds, letting his lips twitch into a smirk. “Who else would it be?”

He watches with some trepidation as Gon’s fingers tremble at his sides, and he really, really wishes he can read Gon’s mind to know what he’s thinking right then. Any number of expressions are crossing his face, one right after the other, never settling as though he can’t decide what in this moment to feel. Sadness. Fear. Excitement. Loneliness. Longing. Back to sadness. But Killua never senses anger.

He knows what _he’s_ feeling, though. The instant his eyes met Gon’s, one emotion surged through him, almost staggering in intensity. Pure, unadulterated joy. He’s here, he’s looking at his friend right now, in person, looking at him and talking to him, and it’s everything he’s been denying he needs. Everything that he’s been missing. In this instant, he feels like his world has realigned itself, and he’s right back where he belongs, grinning slyly at the friend who’s never, ever stopped being his friend.

“What…what are you doing here?” Gon says hoarsely.

Overhead, the announcer is saying something about how they seem to know each other. Maybe the crowd is about to watch a grudge match. Killua ignores her.

A thought strikes Killua, a sly, cheeky response that falls easily from his lips as if he’s been practicing the dry banter he threw around with Gon lifetimes ago.

“You invited me, remember?” he says, moving forward. Gon steps back again.

“You never…” Gon trails off, shaking his head.

“I know I’m late,” Killua says with a shrug. “Had a little trouble back on floor two hundred, got held up. Guess I’m losing my touch without my training partner.”

Gon’s eyes flash, and for a moment they’re twelve again, and his lips curve, causing his cheeks to dimple. Killua missed that.

“Maybe you’re just not as good as you think you are,” Gon teases.

Killua’s eyebrow twitches.

“Come over here and let’s find out,” he taunts, pulling his hands out of his pockets.

Gon hesitates, and there’s a split second where Killua thinks he’s going to do it, where he thinks that they’re going to spar like they always used to. And then Gon takes another step back, and he’s shaking his head, stray bits of hair too short to be caught in his ponytail fluttering in his face. Killua’s heart sinks.

“I can’t,” he says roughly. “I can’t.”

“What’s wrong, Gon?” Killua taunts, stepping forward again. “You scared? Ready to admit I’m the better fighter, then?”

Gon pauses, then turns on his heel and moves toward the stairs on his side of the ring. Something sparks in Killua, something angry, and he moves in an instant to stand between Gon and the stairs, the amusement falling from his expression. His friend stumbles back.

“You’re not backing out of this, Gon,” Killua says darkly. “I’m not as easy to get rid of as Leorio.”

“I’m not going to fight you, Killua,” he insists, looking away from the expression on Killua’s face.

“Why not?” he growls in reply. His irritation makes it easy to set off the spark he needs, and all at once electricity is dancing across his skin. “Scared you’ll lose?”

“Shut up,” Gon says, but his voice is empty. He’s not scared of Killua, then. At least, not of fighting him. “Get out of the way.”

“Not gonna happen,” Killua says, and Godspeed makes catching Gon’s wrist too easy as the boy tries to bypass him. He sees the slight flinch, either in reaction to the electricity or the pressure on his still recovering arm, and it only pisses him off more. “You came here to fight, right? So _fight_.”

“I don’t wanna hurt you,” Gon snaps. “I’m not gonna do that.”

Killua clicks his teeth and plants his knee in Gon’s midsection with enough aura-aided force to send him back several yards, still on his feet but blinking in surprise. Straightening up, Killua levels a look on Gon that once fired him up but now makes him stiffen like a board. He’s not looking forward to ending this fight. It isn’t going to be good for his mental state, or Gon’s physical state. But it needs to happen, and soon, before the crowd starts throwing shit at them for not being entertaining enough.

“You couldn’t if you tried,” Killua retorts. “The way you’ve been fighting, you couldn’t even touch me.”

Gon bristles.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says with a hint of heat.

“Sure I do,” Killua says. “If you can get a single hit on me, I’ll turn around and walk out right now.”

It’s a gamble. Gon is definitely not of the caliber he used to be, but he’s still dangerous, and Killua knows there’s a very real possibility that, _because_ of the way Gon’s been fighting, the boy might be able to get a hand on him, just not without taking a fair amount of damage himself. Then a thought strikes him.

“But it doesn’t count if you have to let me hit you first,” he says. “That’s cheap. And it’s not what Bisky taught us.”

The way Gon’s face falls slack makes Killua think he’s said the right thing. Remind him of the people he’s going against. Shake him up. End it quick, and deal with the fallout in privacy after the match.

“Well?” Killua prompts. “What do you say? Your fans are waiting, y’know.”

Gon blinks and glances up at the rows of impatient people in the stands. He looks back at Killua and shrugs.

“That’s their problem,” he says. “Not here for them, am I?”

“Nah, you’re here for you,” Killua acknowledges. “You, and your stupid need to do everything alone even though you don’t have to, because you’re Gon-fucking-Freecs and you don’t need help.”

Wait, no, that isn’t right. That’s not what Killua wants to say. He can’t bring that up here, or he’s the one that’s going to break down, not Gon.

“Shut up!” Gon snarls. “What do you know?”

“Absolutely nothing,” he answers, and he darts in to sink his fist into Gon’s stomach next, knocking him even further back. “Because you never tell anyone the stuff that matters. You never even told me the important stuff.”

“Maybe you should’ve answered your phone once in a while then,” Gon snaps, but he still isn’t fighting back. Killua is starting to think he isn’t going to, and it’s just going to make what he has to do harder.

“This is a conversation for later,” he sighs.

“What makes you think there’s gonna be a later?” Gon challenges.

Killua raises an eyebrow.

“This.”

He’s behind Gon, landing a chop to the back of his neck that, paired with the electricity he focuses on his hand, drops him like a fly before he has a chance to twitch, let alone block. The crowd sits in startled silence, but Killua doesn’t wait for them to regain their voices with their senses. He kneels down at Gon’s side and hoists him up and over his shoulder in a fireman’s hold, adjusting himself to the unfamiliar weight and carrying him promptly out of the ring and into the room on his side. The attendant standing just inside stares at Killua.

“Where’s his room?” Killua prompts when the attendant just looks at him dumbly.

“Ah—I can take you,” he says. “But just you. He lost, so it’s your room n—”

“I don’t want it,” Killua interrupts. “You’re taking both of us.”

The attendant isn’t brave enough to argue with Killua and turns silently, face pale, to lead him away from the ring. Killua follows in stony silence, heart pounding in his chest and his arm locked tightly behind Gon’s knees. The other boy’s body heat is burning through Killua’s shirt, and that combined with the dead weight he’s carrying is too familiar, far too familiar, and however much he tries to push them away, thoughts of the NGL flicker through his mind. Sometimes they’re too vivid, and for a moment he isn’t walking down a hallway in Heavens Arena but trudging slowly, painfully across a desert with a brittle, comatose fourteen-year-old boy on his back, and then he forces the memory back into a dark hole again, eyes focused too intensely on the attendant’s back.

“Here it is,” the man says quietly, pushing in a nondescript door at the end of the hall.

Killua enters with a silent nod of thanks, and nudges the door closed with his foot as he passes it. The room is like a penthouse apartment, with a large living room front and center and several doors sitting closed, probably to the bedroom and bathroom. A kitchenette sits in the corner nearest the door, the surfaces dull and unpolished.

The room’s atmosphere sends a chill straight through Killua, because unlike the rooms they used to share, and Gon’s home back on Whale Island, this place does not feel lived in. It feels distinctly sterile, a place where someone has slept and eaten but no more. There is no hint that Gon lives here at all, no mess like what he used to leave behind—with Killua’s help—in the hotels they crashed in when they were kids.

Shaking away his unease, Killua shuffles over to the couch and lays Gon carefully across it, very conscious of his bandaged arms. He hadn’t held back when he attacked Gon, so he isn’t sure when he’ll come to, but the odds are high that he isn’t going to have to wait for very long. In the meantime, he might as well make himself useful. He kneels down beside his friend and starts unwrapping the bandages, grimacing at the damp material between his fingers that clearly hasn’t been changed since Gon left the hospital. When both arms are bare, Killua pauses to look them over. Three weeks after he injured himself, and the bruises have mostly faded, leaving ugly splotches of pink and yellow in place of blacks and purples. The stitches have been removed, either on purpose or because they were designed to dissolve on their own, Killua isn’t sure, and the wounds have closed, though they’ll leave scars like the others covering Gon’s body. All in all, he’s both glad that they’re healing alright and sickened that it’s taken so long, a testament to how bad they were.

With a sigh Killua gathers the sweaty bandages and rises to his feet to throw them away and dig up a rag to wash the neglected area. He’s just put a washcloth under the faucet in the sink when he hears Gon grumble, and his stomach drops spectacularly as he shuts the water off and trips into the living room, damp cloth in his fist. The boy isn’t fully conscious yet, his body still limp and eyes still closed, but his brow is creased and his lips are pressed together tightly.

Anxiety returned tenfold, Killua cautiously approaches Gon’s side, crouching down again and touching the rag to his forehead first, before going to rinse off the breeding ground of bacteria his sweat-soaked skin has probably turned into. Muscles twitch beneath his touch, but it isn’t until a hand catches his wrist that he stops, chest tightening slightly at the rough callouses rubbing against his skin.

He doesn’t really want to look up, but he knows he has to. He’s made it this far and he can’t let his resolve weaken now, not when he’s this close. He can’t let Gon think he’s still indecisive after all of this.

So he turns his head, and meets Gon’s gaze head-on.

“What are you doing?”

Killua raises an eyebrow.

“Could ask you the same thing,” he says. “I thought you wanted to travel the world. When did you settle for being a two-bit brawler?”

Gon’s eyes narrow, and he jerks his hand back, leaving Killua with the sensation of suddenly wearing a cold bracelet around his wrist.

“Shut up,” Gon says, moving to sit up. Killua plants a hand on his chest and holds him down. “H-hey, let me up.”

“Not gonna happen,” Killua says, tossing the rag behind him and rising enough to sit on the edge of the couch. “You’re just gonna run off if I let you up.”

“I could make you,” Gon growls.

“But you won’t.”

He doesn’t respond. Cautiously, Killua moves his hand away from Gon, who stays put, still frowning up at him.

“What do you want?” he asks, and his voice isn’t cold, like Killua was expecting at first. It’s almost…scared. “Why are you here?”

“Because you’re being stupid,” Killua says easily. Gon doesn’t react.

“Doesn’t your sister need you, though?”

“She’s with Bisky. She’ll be fine,” he says, and it feels amazing to actually believe that. “Besides, you need me more right now.”

Gon stiffens and looks away, crossing his arms over his chest in an attempt to put some kind of barrier between the two of them. The action hurts, but Killua doesn’t try to pull his arms away. He knew coming here that Gon would most likely be upset with him. That’s _why_ he’s here.

“What are you trying to do here?” he asks, eyes fixed on Gon’s face and taking in every miniscule movement. Catching the twitch in his jaw, the slight shift in his gaze as he almost looks back at Killua before stopping himself. The twitch of his nose that Killua can’t find a reason for and the tip of his tongue flicking over his lower lip.

“’M training,” he mumbles, and he’s as horrible a liar as he was two years ago.

“You call that training?” Killua says, voice catching as he gestures to the arms that, less than a month ago, were shattered and useless. “I must’ve missed that lesson somewhere along the way. ‘In lieu of an opponent, wreck your body yourself because it’ll somehow make you stronger.’ Yeah, definitely missed out on that memo.”

“Shut up,” Gon says. Killua notes that he’s said little else so far. “I’m stronger now.”

“Sure you are. That’s why I could knock you out in three hits.”

“You’ve always been better than me.”

“Not by this much. Admit it, Gon, you _know_ you’re moving backwards like this.”

Gon doesn’t admit it, and Killua leans his elbows on his knees, letting his gaze fall to the floor between his feet in frustration. He has no idea what he’s doing. He’s never been the compassionate one, never been the one with all the right words. Up until now, he’s been in Gon’s position, running away from problems he denies having, trying to push away all attempts to reach out. He didn’t know what he needed, and he’s clueless about Gon as well.

Something brushes his back, and he feels Gon shifting behind him until he’s sitting up, scooting over to sit beside him while maintaining a careful distance.

“I—I don’t know why you think you have to do this,” Killua says quietly. “I never understood why you feel the need to deal with everything by yourself. But I never thought you’d end up this low.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Gon says stubbornly. Killua’s lips twitch feebly.

“Who do you imagine you’re fighting when you let them hit you?” he asks. He senses Gon’s shoulders tense. “Who do you think is attacking you?”

There’s a brief moment of silence, and Killua knows Gon is wondering if he should continue to lie to Killua despite the obvious failure of his dishonesty, or relent and tell Killua what he already knows is going on. Then—

“Lots of people.”

Soft as a whisper, small enough to belong to a mouse. But Killua can’t miss it.

“Like who?” Just as quiet.

“Like…Kite…Ging…Knuckle…”

Killua stiffens and looks over, but Gon has mimicked his pose, hands clasped in his lap and his gaze attached to them.

“Netero, and Leorio, and Shoot. Knov. Palm.”

“Gon…”

“…You…”

It’s one of those rare moments where Killua hates being right.

“People I let down,” Gon continues. “People I’ve hurt. People I’ve failed.”

Killua swallows.

“You didn’t—you didn’t _fail_ —”

“ _I_ think I did. I let Kite, Ging’s friend, die protecting me. I wasted everything Knuckle tried to teach me. Netero died because we couldn’t even finish our first mission and he had to clean up the damage from that. I made Leorio frantic, Palm got involved in all that because of me, she became a chimera ant because I couldn’t do anything. Knov…you saw him…”

“Gon, you can’t—”

“I hurt you. I made you leave.”

Silence falls, the heavy and oppressive sort that presses in on Killua’s eardrums and sends a shudder down his spine. His palms are damp, and he takes fistfuls of his shorts in his hands to try to wipe them off. The ball’s finally been dropped, and he never figured out what to do when that time came.

“Gon, that—” he rasps, mouth dry. “About why I left. I—”

“You don’t have to make me feel better,” Gon says. Far from being shaky, his voice is perfectly steady, but Killua doesn’t find any relief in that. Whatever Gon is about to say, it’s going to be wrong, and the steadiness of his voice says he’s already accepted it. “I messed up, and I hurt you. I didn’t even get what I did, which meant I’d been doing it for a long time. You were right to leave. I would’ve left too. There’s no forgiving the way I brushed you off. You mattered the most to me and I never even told you, I let you think you were totally unimportant. Of course you left. I deserved it.”

Whatever Killua’s been expecting, it isn’t this. He isn’t expecting Gon to not only explain what he did to upset Killua but tell Killua he reacted exactly how he should have. He isn’t expecting Gon to tell him, two years later, that he knows exactly why Killua left and he doesn’t resent him in the slightest for it. He isn’t expecting Gon to say that _he’s_ the one beyond forgiveness, not Killua.

And he doesn’t want to hear it. He doesn’t want to hear Gon taking everything onto himself, like always. He wanted an apology, sure, he’s wanted Gon to understand what he did and apologize since it happened, but this…it isn’t right. This isn’t an apology, it’s Gon condemning himself for a single mistake, Gon saying that with that one incident, he forever lost any right to be with Killua.

“Gon, that’s not—”

“All I do is hurt people,” Gon snorts, not interrupting because he clearly isn’t even aware of Killua talking. “And I never understand it, do I? I never take the hints. I keep texting, and calling, and months go by and I’m still doing it even though I know you’ve moved on, because _I_ can’t do that. I just—I don’t know, I thought if I could get stronger, maybe I could deserve to have any of you again, but it wasn’t enough, and my Nen was almost useless except to guard, so I just…”

Gon’s jaw works furiously, and Killua winces at the sound of grinding teeth.

“I stopped…caring. I couldn’t do anything except fight, so that’s what I did, and I guess…I don’t know. It wasn’t enough. I didn’t feel… _anything_ , so I went looking for stronger opponents, and I ended up here. The more I got hurt, the closer I felt to being normal, because at least then I felt something, but…at the same time I…I just wanted to stop feeling altogether.”

“Gon,” Killua murmurs. He reaches out to touch the boy’s shoulder, and he twitches, eyes flicking up.

“Mm?”

Killua worries at his lower lip with his teeth, his heart aching at the hopeless expression Gon wears, the emptiness in eyes that used to be so full of life. It’s like a flame that’s never gone out has been extinguished, leaving an unfamiliar darkness, cold and unwelcoming. His hand slides down to Gon’s elbow, fingers wrapping gently around and tugging. Gon frowns and looks down at the point of contact, and Killua’s heart sinks when he realizes that Gon doesn’t know what he’s after, whether because he’s forgotten or because he doesn’t believe he can possibly mean what he used to mean by that.

With a deep breath that does nothing to steady himself, Killua moves off of the couch to kneel in front of Gon, pushing between his knees and wrapping his arms tightly around the boy’s middle, cheek pressed against his sternum and eyes screwed shut. He’s never been good at saying the important things, but the two of them usually communicated best physically anyway, and finally, finally, it seems like Killua has found something that hasn’t changed, because after Gon’s initial shock, his arms cautiously slide around Killua’s shoulders, and they’re trembling. Killua squeezes him harder, promising silently that he’s not going to be the first to pull away, that if Gon plans to wait for him to come to his senses and shove him aside, he’s going to go to his grave still waiting.

“Idiot,” Killua breathes when Gon lets his head fall onto his shoulder. “You don’t get to stop feeling. Not when I’m tearing myself apart every day for leaving one of the best things that’s ever happened to me. You don’t get to get off that easy.”

If Gon understands what he means, he doesn’t say so. With the way his arms tighten and the damp feeling slowly spreading across the shoulder of Killua’s shirt, though, Killua thinks he does, and it gives him the courage to keep talking.

“You have no idea how much I wanted to answer those calls,” he says. “But I—I thought if I did I’d just come running back blindly and leave my sister behind again. I shouldn’t have left in the first place. Should’ve just talked to you about it. But—but I was almost as stupid as you, and I was upset, and Alluka needed me. I never believed this would happen. I didn’t think you would care, because I’m just me and you’re so much…and I just—Gon, I’m sorry. I left you alone with this, and I’m sorry. I should have been here, I should have _been here for you_ , and I messed that up again, and god, I’m so sorry.”

The person in his arms shifts and moves forward, pushing him back as he lowers himself off the couch so that he’s level with Killua. Gon’s knees are on either side of Killua’s thighs, and as his arms tighten around Killua’s lean torso and he tucks his face more completely into the crook of his neck, Killua is completely enveloped in warmth. He clings to his best friend, fighting to stay here, wrapped in his embrace, and not return to when a single blow could have shattered his cold, frail body. Killua made it back to Gon, maybe not on time but nowhere near as late as he was then, and he’s going to fix their mistakes like always, and then he is going to sit down with Gon and actually talk, the one thing that he’s failed at doing time and time again in the four years they’ve known each other.

“I miss you, Gon,” he chokes, tears welling up in his eyes again. “I miss my friend.”

“I thought…” Gon says thickly, his dry lips dragging across the skin covering Killua’s throat. “I thought you hated me.”

“Stupid,” Killua scoffs imperiously, even as moisture streaks down his cheeks. “I couldn’t hate you if I wanted to.”

Gon doesn’t reply, and Killua doesn’t say anything more, because he’s just as broken as Gon and he’s already laid himself bare in front of his friend, and he isn’t okay and neither is the other boy, but right now it’s okay that they aren’t okay. Right now, they can both see the possibility that maybe they can be okay, with time and each other, and it’s enough for them. It’s enough for them to be broken together, understanding why they are hurting and what mistakes they’ve made.

Even when Killua’s tears stop, and Gon’s shoulders are no longer shaking with silent sobs, they don’t want to pull away from each other. It’s been two years since they’ve been together, two years since they’ve been able to touch each other, and Killua isn’t ready to release Gon’s warmth. His hands run over his friend’s torso, relearning the lines and planes and curves he’s become unfamiliar with, sometimes sliding over threadbare material and other times tracing scars across bare skin. Gon mimics him, his fingers gliding through Killua’s hair and down his arms and along his sides, curling around his hips and then pressing against his lower back, pulling him more tightly against his chest.

“Miss you too,” Gon mumbles into his collar.

When at last they pull apart, Killua swipes awkwardly at his eyes and Gon rolls off of his lap to sit beside him, knees pulled to his chest with his arms around them. He’s waiting for Killua to yell at him, to demand why he’s cut everybody out of his life, to tell him he’s being stupid and he needs to stop what he’s doing and come home. It’s what everyone else tells him when they manage to pin him down long enough to get a word in edgewise, and though Killua _isn’t_ everyone else, why else would he have come? Killua knows that’s what Gon is thinking, because it’s what he would expect, and while the two of them are polar opposites in some cases, this is one in which they are scarily similar.

“Gon,” Killua says, and Gon flinches at his gentle tone. “How did you break your arms?”

It’s not what Gon is waiting for, but the reprimand that he expects is something that Killua can’t give, because he knows it’s useless and will most likely just make the problem worse. Gon isn’t oblivious to what he’s been doing, or to the consequences of it, so telling him those things will do nothing except drive it further into his head that he’s a walking mistake. Demanding answers is just going to make him shut down, because he can’t fully explain his reasoning; it’s something personal, and a person outside of his struggle won’t understand how badly he’s affected no matter how eloquently he describes it. So Killua forgoes all of that.

“My…arms?” Gon echoes, glancing down.

“Yeah,” Killua says. “Don’t tell me nothing. I saw you in the hospital.”

Gon blinks, and his eyes widen.

“You—when were you—”

“I got there the day before you snuck out, you moron,” Killua says. “You were totally out of it from the drugs.”

“You didn’t—I didn’t—where—”

“I stayed with Leorio that night. I was planning on going to see you in the morning when you were awake, but you had to go and run off in the middle of the night.”

Gon has the decency to duck his head in embarrassment, cheeks coloring.

“Would’ve save me a lot of hassle if you’d just waited another day,” Killua says airily. Then he grows serious. “Your arms were in bad shape. They looked like a failed arts and crafts project. What were you _doing_?”

His friend takes a long time to respond, but Killua is more the prepared to wait him out.

“I…” Gon finally says quietly. “They were already kind of broken. I could tell, y’know, after my last fight, there were definitely some breaks. When I got back to my room, I called you—I call you after every match—and you didn’t answer, and…I don’t really remember what happened.”

Killua presses his lips together into a tight line.

“I…I was hitting my forearms together, I think. It hurt because of the injuries, and I kept doing it. Maybe I started going harder, I’m not sure. I felt them break more eventually, but it wasn’t…”

“Enough?”

Gon twitches, then shakes his head.

“I think I tried to use my Nen. Tried to gather it and focus it in my fists. I don’t know what I was going to do, but it doesn’t really matter. I gathered too much aura into my arms, and I still can’t control it very well, and they were too weak to take it, and it just…exploded, I guess? I’m pretty sure I blacked out after that.”

To hide the trembling in his fingers, Killua curls them into fists. Slowly, he shifts his position so that he’s facing Gon instead of sitting beside him, biting the inside of his cheek at the dull look in his eyes as he stares down at his hands.

“I don’t think…I don’t think I’ll ever really get it back,” Gon says hopelessly. “I don’t think I can get it back. I—I was okay with it, then, but…It feels wrong.”

Killua wants to reach out to him, but he doesn’t know what good that will do.

“Maybe it’s for the better,” Gon says. “I don’t—I don’t deserve it anyway. I shouldn’t have it at all, not after what I did.”

It’s not the words that make Killua hit Gon; it’s the sad acceptance in his tone when he says them. As Killua’s fist slams into Gon’s cheek, all he can think is how pissed he suddenly is, at the situation, at Gon tucking his tail between his legs and giving up, at his resignation to be a shell of his potential. Because it’s _not_ for the better, he _doesn’t_ deserve it, and he _can_ and he _will_ get it back, even if Killua has to tie him up and force him to figure it out, because like hell is he going to just give up.

“K-Killua, what—”

“Shut up,” Killua snaps, lunging over to pin Gon down before he can get up. The other boy winces.

“Killua, I—”

“I said shut up, Gon,” he interrupts, closing his eyes and trying to focus. “Quit talking and let me concentrate.”

Gon huffs irately, but remains still and silent beneath him.

Killua isn’t sure what spurs him to do it, or even how he knows to try, but he thinks it might be his only shot. _Their_ only shot. Brow furrowed, Killua focuses on his aura, on the way it pulses around him and slides across his skin, not truly tangible but at the same time very real. He begins to channel it through his arms and into his hands, which are holding Gon’s biceps to the floor, and imagines it meeting Gon’s Nen, not simply touching but merging with it.

He knows the instant Gon feels their auras connect, because his breath leaves him as suddenly as if he’s just been punched in the stomach, but instead of going tense to take a blow, his body falls slack. Killua cracks his eyelids to see Gon with his head back against the floor, brow creased and his own eyes closed.

“Work with me here, Gon,” Killua says when he feels Gon’s aura push against him slightly.

“’M trying,” he mumbles in response.

The energy gives a little under Killua’s cautious probing, and he feels the boundaries between them start to blur ever so slightly, spikes of Gon’s erratic Nen causing him to wince even as they mellow out with his influence. Gon gives a quiet sigh, and their auras begin to merge more easily, Killua using his to help stabilize Gon’s to the best of his ability. It’s not perfect, and he can feel high levels of energy even still, but it’s a start. Gon is relaxing under him, and his aura is calming down, not really stable but nowhere near the cesspool from before.

“That…” Gon says quietly. “That’s…I forgot what it felt like…”

“Idiot,” Killua snorts. “That’s what happens when you don’t train right.”

“I really am messed up, huh?”

“Yeah, you are,” Killua answers. No point in lying. “But you’re gonna get better.”

Gon doesn’t reply, and Killua scowls down at him, tightening his grip on his arms and digging his nails in until his friend meets his gaze.

“I’m gonna make you better,” Killua growls. “Just like I always do. And once you’re good as new I’m going to kick your ass for trying to give me heart attacks every other week. You don’t get a vote, and you don’t get to decide what you deserve or what you can do because you’ve been selling yourself short this whole time.”

“What if you can’t?”

He isn’t asking as a challenge, and Killua doesn’t take it as one. Gon is staring at him, wearing an expression that is doing its damnedest to break his heart, because it’s almost, almost hopeful, but it’s also terrified. He’s scared to even hope that it might work, that he might somehow be okay, that Killua can help him even with something this massive, because if it doesn’t work, if Killua fails, he’ll be even worse off than before. But Killua won’t fail. He can’t, and even if it kills him he isn’t going to let Gon slip any farther away. He’s hanging from a trapeze, and he’s got a hold on Gon, and he is not going to let go until Gon is back up on his own.

“Have a little faith,” Killua says with a smirk. “You used to think I could do anything.”

Gon’s lips twitch and he rolls his eyes, head falling back against the floor again.

“Yeah, well, I was twelve, what do you expect?” he chuckles.

Killua’s smirk grows into a real smile, and he releases Gon’s arms and collapses on top of him, grinning at the yelp he earns.

“So was I,” he says, folding his arms over Gon’s chest and setting his chin on top of them. “But you didn’t see me harboring any illusions.”

“Yeah, well, you always were the smart one.” Said as Gon’s arms wrap around him.

“Still am,” Killua chirps.

Their auras are swirling together, and it’s oddly comforting despite the occasional spikes from Gon’s. Killua isn’t looking forward to pulling back later, but of course they’ll have to before they completely exhaust themselves.

“Looks like it.”

Sighing, Killua lays his cheek on his arms and closes his eyes, content to lay right there for a while and feel the rise and fall of Gon’s chest as he breathes.

“Hey, Killua?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re…you’re not gonna leave again…right?”

Killua swallows thickly, and his eyes sting at the hesitance in Gon’s voice. Nevertheless, when he answers, he does it with a smile.

“Well I’m not sticking around here,” he says. “Got places to be. Things to do.”

Gon twitches, and Killua’s smile grows.

“Don’t pout, Gon, I’m taking you with me,” he says, head-butting his friend’s chin.

The yelp and wrestling match that ensues doesn’t mark an end to their troubles, and neither of them are fool enough to think it will, but it does mark an end to their isolation. As Killua catches Gon with an arm behind his back, his time spent hiding alone with his sister has come to an end, and as Gon breaks out of his hold and throws himself bodily on top of Killua, his time spent running away is pulled to a halt. They’re not okay, and they can’t erase two years of being that way, but they can finally start recovering. Healing properly, allowing open wounds to scar over until they no longer bleed and hurt.

They’re still dangling over that drop, Gon reaching for his own trapeze. He hasn’t caught it yet, but Killua has a firm grasp on him until he makes it. If they’re going to fall, they’re going to do it together, and there will be no safety net to catch them.


End file.
